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I hang my head and let the moment linger before I finally resign myself to my fate.

This is survival. This is me choosing the least catastrophic option. This is me making sure that Leopold Anguish doesn’t take the reins of power.

But I make a secret promise to myself. I will agree to this week, but I will not hand over my body. Not even if the Castaways demand it.

I will make that choice my own.

“Don’t tell Clement,” I whisper. “He’d kill all of us.”

“I think that’s wise.”

“Fabien’s here now, isn’t he? It’s about to happen?”

Father’s eyes flicker to the door.

“Yes, he’s in the next room.”

I sigh again.

Could I do it? Really do it? With him?

“Does he know?”

Father’s lips tighten.

“He will in a minute.”

Ah. Great.

“Okay, let’s do this,” I say, the emotion driven out of my voice. “One week with the man who hates me. I hope you know what you’re doing, Dad.”

He nods.

“Thank you, Jolie.”

And with that, the hood slides back on. Blackness again. I’m lifted to my feet.

These freaking theatrics.

A door opens. I hear Leopold’s voice. He’s reading out the task, presumably to Fabien.

I’m pulled toward the voice. I’m pushed back on my knees.

There’s more talking. Then again, the hood.

Swish.

And Fabien is right there, in front of me, as though nothing has changed in years. This boy who once meant the world to me is now a man hardened to the world. There’s shock on his face. There’s blood on his hands. He’s topless. He’s just had a fight, and it’s clear he’s won. Of course he did.

I wouldn’t expect less from Fabien. I wouldn’t want to see the other guy.

I’m the last thing he expects to see. And now he knows what his task will be.

And that shock quickly turns to clear, solid rage.

Yep, he hates me. It’s even worse now that I’m in front of him. It makes it all so very real. What once were memories are now rising in me like sensations. There’s a tightness in my chest. A fear from deep within me.

And then Fabien walks out with a final verbal shot in that deep, familiar voice.